Seventeen
Beatrice left a worried Hannah in her bedroom and descended the main staircase. She wore her plain day dress and a pair of soft-soled leather slippers in an attempt to make as little noise as possible. The big house had finally fallen silent a short time ago. Lord Alverstoke kept early hours in the country and his guests were obliged to do the same. Not that the elegant, bored people who had accepted his invitation were bothered. They had other plans for the evening.
Beatrice was well aware that the hush was deceptive. In her role as a paid companion she had attended enough house parties to know that the main attraction of such affairs was not the fresh air and scenic landscapes of the countryside. Nor were many of Alverstoke’s guests truly interested in his collection of Egyptian antiquities. They could view any number of relics at the British Museum were they so inclined.
Country-house parties were popular for one reason and one reason only: They provided ideal opportunities to conduct illicit trysts. Sprawling Alverstoke Hall, with its many bedrooms, antechambers, storage rooms, gardens and other secluded locations, was perfect for discreet liaisons. She had no doubt but that the many staircases scattered throughout the mansion were already seeing a steady stream of traffic as lovers and seducers made their way between floors.
The house was not completely dark. The servants, obviously aware that many of the guests were interested in matters other than antiquities, had thoughtfully left several wall sconces burning. But with the lamps turned down and the mansion draped in relative silence, she was more aware of the eerie energy of the artifacts seething in the atmosphere. Paranormal currents always seemed stronger and more easily detectable at night.
She reached the ground floor and paused briefly to get her bearings. The surroundings appeared different—more mysterious and somehow more ominous—now that they were cloaked in shadows.
The hot energy of the artifacts was disorienting but there was another problem as well. The original core structure of the mansion was very old. Over time various occupants had remodeled sections, built entire new wings, and added floors. In addition structural modifications had been made to the existing house in order to install modern amenities such as gas lighting and proper plumbing. The result was that Alverstoke Hall was a maze of oddly connected passages, hallways and staircases.
Earlier she had taken care to note the route to the library, but she was alarmed to realize that things looked so different now that the lamps had been turned down.
After a moment’s close reflection she started forward. She shuddered when she passed the massive, vault-like doors that guarded the great hall. The chamber that held Alverstoke’s most valuable antiquities had been locked for the night following the grand reception. Rumor had it Alverstoke was very proud of his security measures. But no locks could stop the dark energy that seeped out from under the lower edges of the heavy doors.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she located the long, moonlit gallery where she had been sitting earlier when Joshua had found her. Now she had her bearings. The library was at the far end of the passage.
The gallery was cloaked in shadows but she saw the wobbly flame of a candle in the distance. As she watched, it moved toward her in an unsteady manner, as though the person carrying the candlestick walked with a limp.
Relieved, she hurried toward him.
A solid thud, followed by a sharp gasp, warned her that she had made a mistake. The light of the flame flared wildly on the stone walls.
“Bloody hell,” a man rasped, his voice slurred by drink. “Damned artifacts.”
Definitely not Joshua, Beatrice thought.
She halted and looked around, searching for a convenient staircase or room she could dart into. But there was no time. The man who had just run afoul of one of the relics was almost upon her. In the glow of the fluttering candle his face was cast in demonic chiaroscuro.
When he spotted her his anger immediately transmuted into lecherous anticipation.
“Well, well, now what have we here?” he said. “You must be one of the maids. Off to meet a lover, eh?”
“You have made a very grave mistake, sir,” she said coldly. “I’ll thank you to step aside.”
“You’re no maid, not with that accent. Not a governess, either. There aren’t any children here at Alverstoke Hall. You must be some lady’s companion.”
“You are correct, sir, and as it happens I am on a very important errand for my employer. She will not be pleased if I am delayed.”
“Carrying a note to her paramour, are you?” He chuckled. “You have my deepest sympathies. Yours is a hard lot, is it not? You are doomed to convey messages between lovers but never to have one of your own.”
“I will ask you once again to step aside, sir.”
He held the candle higher and examined her with a critical air.
“You are no beauty,” he announced. “No figure to speak of and red hair is always off-putting. But I’ve tumbled worse in Covent Gardens.” He grinned. “Fortune has smiled upon you tonight. My plans for the evening have changed. The bitch I was to meet opened her door to another man. So, as you are convenient and I am not feeling overly selective at the moment, let’s get on with the business.”
“Sorry, not interested.”
Aware that flight would likely invite pursuit, she moved forward decisively, meaning to step around him. The bold tactic failed. He reached out and grabbed her arm.
“You bloody well will be interested by the time I’ve finished with you,” he snarled. “Who do you think you are to refuse your betters? A woman like you ought to be down on her knees thanking me for sparing a few minutes of my time for you. Now that I consider the matter, on your knees is where we’ll start. If you show any talent with your mouth I might be persuaded to give you a few other lessons in the art.”
He set the candle on a nearby table and used his grip on her arm to force her to her knees. With his other hand, he opened his trousers.
She reached for the vial attached to her chatelaine. “Let me go.”
“What’s that? Your smelling salts? I trust you’re not about to faint on me. I’m going to give you a taste of the finest cock in London. You’ll remember this night for the rest of your life, I promise you.”
“So will you the next time you accost another woman,” she said.
She twitched out from under his restraining hand, leaped to her feet and removed the stopper of the vial of smelling salts. She splashed some of the liquid contents straight into his face.
The shock of the pepper-based brew caused her assailant to stop breathing for a moment. He stared at her in horror. And then he squeezed his eyes shut against the burning sensation.
Gasping for air, he released her to claw at his throat.
“What have you done, you crazy whore?” he wheezed.
“Nothing permanent.” She moved back another few steps. “I trust you will spend the next few minutes contemplating the fact that not every woman you meet is helpless to resist your charms.”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with, you damned witch.” He was trying to shout but the pepper concoction still had a grip on his throat. The words were scratchy and barely audible. “I’m Covington. I’ll see that you’re arrested.”
“For tossing smelling salts into your face? I doubt that will be enough to get me arrested.”
“These aren’t smelling salts.”
“No one will ever know otherwise,” she assured him. “The damage is not permanent.”
“I’ll see that your employer turns you off without a character.” He sank to his knees. “You’re too old to make your living on the streets. You’ll end your days in the workhouse, damn you.”
A faint, steady tapping sound came from the entrance of a doorway at the end of the hall. A dark shadow emerged. In the moonlight Beatrice could see that Joshua was no longer wearing his disguise. He paused to extinguish the candle.
“There you are, my dear,” Joshua said. “I wondered what had delayed you. I would offer to be of assistance but, as usual, you seem to have the situation well in hand.”
“Who is that? Who’s there?” Covington turned toward the sound of Joshua’s voice but tears were streaming down his face. It was obvious that he could not make out Joshua clearly. “You must help me, sir. I have been attacked by this woman, poisoned, I think.”
“He’ll live,” Beatrice assured Joshua. “But it will take a while before the effects of my smelling salts wear off.”
“Then there’s no point wasting any more time standing around out here,” Joshua said. “You and I have other things to discuss.”
“Quite right,” Beatrice said.
She moved quickly around Covington and joined Joshua.
“Help,” Covington squeaked. “This creature has murdered me. Help.”
“You heard the lady,” Joshua said. “You will live. I’m not convinced that is the most desirable outcome, but it will probably cause less fuss than the alternative. Rest assured, however, that if you offend her again in any manner whatsoever, you will find yourself dealing with the other possible ending.”
“Who the devil are you and why are you bothering with this little whore? She’s just someone’s paid companion.”
“Enough,” Joshua said, his voice lethally soft. “You were warned.”
Bracing himself on his cane, he leaned down and gripped the back of Covington’s neck with one powerful hand. Covington went limp and collapsed, unconscious, to the floor.
“Oh, dear,” Beatrice said. “I do hope you didn’t kill him. As much as I appreciate the gesture, it would create no end of trouble.”
“Give me some credit, Miss Lockwood. I’m never sloppy when it comes to my work. Rest assured he’ll wake up in a few minutes. With luck he won’t remember you, but if he does and if he becomes a problem, I will find a more permanent solution.”
“Very well, then.”
“Come, let’s not waste any more time. You are here because you have news for me. We have the library to ourselves.”
When his powerful hand wrapped around her arm she got the small, thrilling shock across all of her senses. She would always know his touch. No matter what the future held, she would remember these whispers of deep, stirring awareness for the rest of her life. I will never forget this man.
Joshua’s fingers tightened for an instant. She sensed that he, too, experienced some sensation when they were in direct physical contact. She wondered how he interpreted the flashes of connection. He would have some logical explanation, she thought, amused, possibly something involving static electricity.
He guided her along the gallery and through a doorway. She moved ahead of him into a room lit by moonlight. She inhaled the smell of leather-bound books and old, frequently polished furniture.
Joshua released her arm with, it seemed to her, reluctance. He closed and locked the door. When he turned back to face her she sensed the energy in the atmosphere. For the first time she realized that he was coldly furious.
“Did that bastard hurt you in any way?” he asked.
“No, really, I’m fine. It certainly is not the first time I’ve had to deal with a drunk, lecherous man. Encounters like tonight are one of the hazards of my work. That is why all of the Flint and Marsh agents now carry Mrs. Marsh’s new special smelling salts.”
“I don’t like the idea that you are forced to come into contact with men like Covington on a frequent basis.”
“Generally speaking, the Covingtons of this world can be avoided,” she assured him.
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” she asked, going rather blank.
“You should not be placed in situations that require you to defend yourself.”
She raised her chin. “It’s how I make my living, Mr. Gage. And given what you used to do for a living, I do not think that you are in a position to criticize.”
“Damn it to hell.” He spoke with great depth of feeling. Then he exhaled heavily. “I will allow you that point. What the devil is in your vinaigrette bottle? It appeared to be quite effective.”
“Mrs. Marsh recently created the concoction in her laboratory. She gave each of the agents a vial filled with the stuff. I believe the formula is based on a distillation of some extraordinarily hot peppers.”
“I have long admired Mrs. Marsh’s talent as a chemist,” Joshua said.
“She was inspired to brew the pepper vinaigrette after another employee of the firm, a close friend of mine named Evangeline Ames, was very nearly murdered. Following the Crystal Gardens affair, Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh concluded that all of their agents should carry some means of self-defense that was a bit more discreet than a gun.”
“Firearms have their uses but they frequently cause far more problems than they solve,” Joshua said. “And they are not what anyone would call discreet. The police tend to take notice when someone gets shot.”
“Discretion is the primary reason our clients come to us,” Beatrice said, not bothering to conceal her pride. “Flint and Marsh agents go into some of the wealthiest and most exclusive homes. Our goal is to be as inconspicuous as possible.”
“That is the goal of any good investigator,” Joshua said.
“Since we’re on the subject of self-defense, I would be very interested to learn that little trick that you used on Euston and Covington.”
“Please do not take this as an insult, but it is not a very useful technique for a lady. It requires considerable strength, not to mention a great deal of training and practice.”
“Oh, I see.”
“You need not sound so disappointed,” he said. He was amused. “You are very well armed as it is. Let us get on with the matter at hand. I assume you signaled me with the candle because you have had word from the blackmailer?”
“Yes.” Beatrice took the note out of her pocket and handed it to him. “When your sister and I went upstairs to retire for the evening we found this note. It was on Hannah’s pillow in an envelope that was addressed to her. A man’s handwriting, I’m sure of it.”
Joshua turned up a lamp and read the note aloud.
The great hall. Three o’clock, precisely. The doors will be unlocked. Send the paid companion with the money. If she is seen, no one will take any notice. You, however, might attract unwanted attention. Tell the companion to leave the offering inside the stone box at the foot of the sarcophagus. If these instructions are not followed exactly, the first of many revelations concerning the events of the night of January 9 three years ago will be sent to the press.
Joshua looked up from the note. In the glare of the lamp Beatrice could see that he was very focused. “He specifies that you must deliver the blackmail payment.”
“His logic is clear. If I am seen coming and going in the halls tonight no one will ask questions. But if Hannah is spotted outside her bedroom there will be gossip. The blackmailer does not want anyone to ask questions.”
“The great hall holds the most valuable artifacts in Alverstoke’s collection. It’s well secured at night with the most modern of locks,” Joshua noted.
“How do you know that the lock is modern?” she asked.
“I watched Alverstoke and his butler secure the chamber for the night.”
“Have you been prowling through the house tonight, sir?”
“As my former employer used to say, Know the terrain and you will be able to predict your opponent’s strategy.”
“Ah, yes, the mysterious Mr. Smith, otherwise known as Victor Hazelton?”
Josh’s brows rose. “Hannah certainly did confide in you.”
“Your Mr. Smith may have a few things in common with my former employer. Roland was fond of saying, Know your audience but make sure your audience does not know you. Mystery is everything onstage.”
“Excellent advice,” Joshua said gravely.
“Yes, well, obviously whoever sent that note to Hannah has access to the key to that great hall.” A jolting thought made Beatrice catch her breath. “Do you think that Lord Alverstoke is a party to this extortion business?”
“No,” Joshua said. He spoke with cool confidence. “I thought I made it clear, Alverstoke’s temperament and his eccentricities are such that it is impossible to imagine him as a blackmailer. In any event, he commands a fortune. He has no need to take the risk of extorting money from others. I’m quite certain that he is an unwitting pawn in this affair.”
“How difficult would it be for someone to steal the key to the great hall?” Beatrice asked.
“Based on what I observed tonight, it would be a relatively simple business. But the thief would have to have some knowledge of the household and its routines.” Joshua paused in thought. “There is an alternative, of course. He could try to bribe one of the servants. Either way, the theft of the key is the most easily explained aspect of this case.”
“The thing is, why go to the trouble of using the great hall as the location for the blackmail payment in the first place?” Beatrice tapped one finger on a table, thinking. “There are a thousand nooks and crannies here at Alverstoke Hall, not to mention all sorts of hidden places in the gardens. Why not arrange for the payment to be left in a less conspicuous, more accessible location, one that does not necessitate taking the risk of stealing a key?”
“A very good question, Miss Lockwood. The answer is obvious.”
She frowned. “It is?”
“The great hall is a room that the blackmailer feels he can control. It is certainly the one place where no one is likely to intrude this evening because it has been secured for the night.”
“Yes, of course,” Beatrice said. Admiration flashed through her. “Guests are even now skulking about the mansion searching for discreet locations for romantic trysts. But no one will bother to try the antiquities chamber because everyone is aware that it is always locked. That is a brilliant observation, sir. You really are quite good at this sort of thing.”
“I try.”
She ignored the dry humor in his tone. “Besides, what woman could possibly feel romantically inclined when she was surrounded by so much dark tomb and temple energy?”
“Some might find the surroundings . . . exotic.” Joshua spoke as if he was giving the issue close consideration. “An inspiration to the imagination.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Now you are teasing me, sir.”
“My apologies. Couldn’t resist.”
“You have made your disdain for the paranormal plain,” she said. “Tell me, have you never experienced anything that was beyond explanation, Mr. Gage?”
“Frequently. But the fact that I could not explain things at the time does not mean that the events were of a paranormal nature. Merely that science does not yet have all the answers.”
“Yet you survived in a very dangerous business for several years,” she said. “That leads me to conclude that your intuition is quite acute, perhaps even psychical in nature.”
“Trusting my so-called intuition is why I am now forced to walk with a cane and why small children stare at my face on the street,” Joshua said.
“Forgive me,” she said, mortified. “I did not mean to bring up the subject of your past, not tonight.”
“I would appreciate it if you did not bring up the subject on any other night, as well,” he said.
“I understand, it is a very difficult topic for you.” She was feeling more miserable by the moment. “About our plan tonight. I assume you will be watching the great hall after I leave to see who enters the chamber to collect the payment?”
Joshua smiled. “You sound as if you have had some experience with extortion investigations.”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I have. In the course of my work with Flint and Marsh, I have had some clients who were being blackmailed. It is actually a rather common problem in the circles in which I operate. Everyone has secrets. Wealthy people with secrets are always vulnerable to extortionists.”
“I never considered that you might have investigated something as serious as a case of blackmail.”
“For pity’s sake, sir, what do you think I do as a Flint and Marsh agent?”
“I meant no offense.”
“Yet you offend so well.”
“My apologies.” He glanced at the tall clock in the corner. “In answer to your question, yes, I will be watching the entrance to the great hall tonight. I will be there when you go inside. After you leave, I will wait for the blackmailer to arrive.”
She cleared her throat. “May I ask what, exactly, you plan to do with him when you catch him?”
“I intend to have an informative conversation.”
And that was all she was going to get on that subject, she decided.
“I see,” she said.
“I will escort you back to the floor where your room is located.”
“I came down the main staircase because I thought the servants’ stairs would be rather crowded tonight.”
“A good plan, but the main staircase is a bit too public for my liking,” Joshua said. “It would not do for us to be seen together going up to the bedroom floor. We will use another set of steps that I discovered earlier when I explored the house. This mansion is riddled with old stairwells. The one I found appears to have been closed up for years.”
He turned down the lamp, opened the door and surveyed the shadowy gallery. Satisfied, he stood back to allow her to move past him into the hall.
“Don’t dawdle, Miss Lockwood,” he said behind her.
“Wouldn’t think of it, Mr. Gage.”
She caught up the folds of her skirts and went briskly along the gallery pretending not to hear the muffled thud of his cane on the carpet behind her.
She walked more quickly, almost trotting now. He had ordered her not to tarry. If he chose to follow her and could not keep up, that was his problem, she thought. Really, the man was insufferable.
She was relieved to see that Covington was no longer lying unconscious on the floor of the gallery.
“I told you he would wake up in a few minutes,” Joshua said in low tones. “Don’t worry, I doubt he will remember anything of what happened here.”
“I hope not.”
“If he tries to make trouble I will ensure that he does, indeed, forget everything that occurred between the two of you.”
The steel in the words made Beatrice swallow hard.
“Oh,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. By the way, the door to the staircase I mentioned a moment ago is ahead on the right, just inside that intersecting hallway.”
She stopped and peered into the deeper shadows of the adjoining hallway.
“I don’t see the entrance to the hallway,” she said.
He caught up with her and took her arm. She took a sharp breath.
“I’ll show you,” he said.
“Really, there is no need to escort me all the way to my room,” she said.
“I will not go that far. I want to make sure you are not accosted again.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “I can take care of myself, Mr. Gage.”
She was about to continue with a stern lecture but abruptly there was a shift in the atmosphere. She glanced at him and saw that he was looking past her toward the far end of the gallery.
“What is it?” she asked.
Then she saw the couple coming toward them along the gallery. A woman’s seductive laugh was followed by a masculine voice that was blurred with drink.
“Come, my dear. Earlier this evening I noticed a number of empty rooms in the old wing of the house. I think we can find the privacy we seek there.”
“I insist upon a bed,” the woman declared, giggling. “I am not about to let you have your wicked way with me out in the gardens as you did last time. It was most uncomfortable to say nothing of my ruined gown.”
“I’m sure we will find suitable accommodations.”
The couple was closer now. Beatrice suppressed a frustrated groan. It was only a matter of time before the two people noticed that they were not alone in the gallery.
“There is no help for it,” she whispered. “We shall have to brazen it out. We must pretend to be another couple seeking a private location for a tryst.”
“An excellent plan,” Joshua said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
The dryness of the words made her realize that he had already conceived a similar strategy. Before she could inform him that she found his attitude quite arrogant, he drew her into the dense shadows of a nearby alcove. A pedestal displaying a small quartz sphinx occupied the center of the space.
Her senses heightened intuitively. She had time enough to register the faint, ultralight shadows emanating from the sphinx and then she was in Joshua’s arms. He propped his cane against the pedestal and positioned himself so that his broad shoulders were turned toward the oncoming couple, thereby concealing her face.
He covered her mouth with his own.
Lightning danced across her senses. In that moment she knew that nothing would ever be the same.